Chapter 3
THREE
Seraphina
Present
I see Bram before he sees me.
He is walking across the ballroom with a silver coffee urn balanced carefully in one enormous hand, wearing the black vest and white shirt of the catering company my assistant hired for tonight's corporate reception.
For one absurd moment, my mind refuses to connect the two worlds.
Bram belongs in Velvet Fang.
He belongs beneath warm crimson lights, with his rounded bear ears twitching whenever I praise him, his massive body folded obediently at my feet, his expression softening whenever I call him my good boy.
He does not belong beneath the crystal chandeliers of my company's ballroom, surrounded by monster executives wearing custom suits, diamond jewelry, enchanted watches and expressions sharpened by decades of corporate warfare.
And yet there he is.
He looks up.
His eyes find mine.
We freeze.
The coffee urn remains suspended halfway between us.
His ears slowly lift. "Seraphina?"
I feel something warm and painful bloom beneath my ribs. "Bram."
He glances down at himself, then back at me. "I'm working."
"I can see that." I almost laugh. Because if meeting him here again after the tenderness we exchanged at the club isn’t a sign from fate, what is?
He gives me a sheepish smile. "The café isn't my only job. I pick up catering shifts sometimes. This company hired the catering service I work for."
He looks around the ballroom, suddenly seeming much more conscious of where he is. "I didn't know this was your company."
At Velvet Fang, Bram is relaxed. He wears clothes chosen for comfort, and his enormous body seems almost cuddly beneath his soft bear traits.
Here, he is standing in the middle of a room filled with people who measure one another by wealth, influence and professional achievements.
“It was nice seeing you,” I say coldly, waving him goodbye as the senior vice president approaches me. I get lost in conversation.
Bram hovers near me all evening, as he goes around the room, offering drinks to those gathered here. But I know we’re both hyper-aware of each other.
I look across the room and smile at him.
His ears perk up.
He smiles back.
For one tiny moment, the ballroom disappears.
Then someone ruins it.
"Seraphina."
I turn. Marcus Vale approaches with a drink in his hand and a smug smile on his face. He is one of our senior executives, handsome in the carefully cultivated way of a man who has spent more money on his appearance than most people earn in a year.
He steps beside me and places a hand around my waist.
My entire body stiffens. I immediately slide away from his touch. His smile falters, like I slapped him. He knits his eyebrows in annoyance.
"Oh, come on," he says. "Don't be so prickly."
My eyebrows draw together. "Don't touch me without asking."
He laughs. Several people nearby glance in our direction.
"You really are impossible."
"I'm perfectly capable of deciding who touches me."
Marcus takes another sip of his drink. "You're a siren, Seraphina. Everyone knows what your species is like."
I feel my stomach turn. His smile becomes uglier.
"Seductive. Ambitious. Manipulative." He gestures vaguely toward me. "Come on. Nobody believes you climbed this high because of your business instincts alone."
The room seems to become quieter.
Marcus continues, apparently enjoying himself.
"You've probably slept your way through half the executive floor. Maybe you sang a few people into giving you promotions."
My fingers curl.
I have heard versions of this before.
Of course I have.
A beautiful woman is ambitious, and people assume she must have used her body.
A siren succeeds, and people assume she must have used her voice.
A woman refuses a man's advances, and suddenly she's arrogant.
A woman accepts a man's attention, and suddenly she owes him something.
I know all of this.
I have spent years learning how to survive it.
Usually, I simply smile and destroy the person professionally later.
But this time, Bram does my work for me. He ‘pretends’ to trip and spills hot coffee down Marcus’s expensive suit and shirt.
It’s so hilarious that I can barely bottle my laughter.
“What the fuck?” Marcus, angry, glares at Bram.
“I’m so sorry,” Bram apologizes, looking demure. “I didn’t mean to. I just tripped. I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for your dry cleaning, sir.”
“My suit is ruined!” Marcus bellows, inviting the attention of other executives. The senior vice president clears his throat, clearly displeased at the ruckus Marcus is creating over a suit.
Marcus realizes he has become the center of attention for the wrong reasons and simmers down.
“You better change into something else,” I whisper in a low voice. “Or go home. The party is almost over, anyway.”
Marcus glares at Bram, but he departs.
I look at Bram and my heart feels like it’s made of mush. This submissive bear who never hurts a fly poured coffee over a man to defend me. That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.
This is a man standing up for someone he loves because he cannot bear to watch her be humiliated.
Bram watches him leave before turning toward me.
"Are you okay?"
I don't answer immediately.
My heart is beating too hard.
"You didn't have to do that."
"I know."
"Then why did you?"
His expression softens.
"Because you shouldn't have to listen to someone talk about you like that."
Something inside me breaks.
Not painfully.
Something more like a wall collapsing.
He never stopped loving me.
And I…Gods.
I still love him. I still feel safe with him. I still want him.
The realization is so overwhelming that I need somewhere private before I say something I can't take back.
"Come with me."
His ears twitch. "Where?"
"Somewhere we can talk. You deserve the truth. The whole truth."
“About what?”
“About why I broke up with you.”
I clench my fingers. I hate getting into my past trauma, but I know I should have been honest with Bram from the beginning. If I had told him, he probably wouldn’t have been inside my apartment that day.
I lead him through a side door and into a quiet conference room overlooking the city.
The ballroom disappears behind the glass. For several moments, neither of us speaks.
Then I turn toward him. "When I ended things with you, I told you it was because you entered my apartment without permission."
His expression becomes solemn.
"That was true." I take a breath. "But it wasn't the whole story."
Bram waits.
"My ex used to enter my apartment without permission. I gave him the keys to my apartment because we were dating and I thought he could use it to let himself in because I always ended up coming back late from work."
Bram’s face changes. “Okay.”
"But he would search through my things. My drawers. My closet. My desk." I wrap my arms around myself. The terrible memories, the horrible feeling of unsafety I felt back then returns like a tide crashing over my body. I shiver. "I asked him to stop. He told me I was being paranoid."
Bram doesn't interrupt.
"Then things started disappearing."
His eyes lower. "What kind of things?"
"Jewelry. Cash. Watches. Small things at first." My throat tightens. "Then expensive things."
He remains silent.
"I eventually realized he'd been stealing from me."
Bram's jaw tightens.
"He'd been using my apartment as though it belonged to him. My privacy didn't matter to him. My boundaries didn't matter to him."
I look toward the window.
"So when you came into my apartment, I didn't see a man who loved me enough to clean my home." I swallow. "I saw him."
Bram's eyes shine. "I understand."
He steps closer but stops several feet away, leaving space between us.
My eyes burn.
"I'm sorry," he continues. "I should have respected your space. I should have understood that your apartment was yours, and I had no right to enter without permission."
I stare at him.
"I will never enter your private space without your permission again."
Something inside me loosens. I realize that I was unfair to him. I hated him for a mistake another man made. I projected my worst fears onto him.
But today, when he spilled coffee on Marcus to save me from humiliation, knowing he’d have to pay a huge sum for dry cleaning, knowing he could even lose his catering gig over that mistake, made me realize that he’s nothing like my ex.
My ex was selfish, calculating, and opportunistic.
He kissed me, but he never made me coffee the way I liked it.
He told me he loved me, but he never cleaned my apartment or intervened when his friends told him that the only reason he liked me was because I was a siren and everyone knows sex with a siren is great.
Bram is different. He’s respectful. He’s honest and sweet and kind. He’s the caring, loving, supportive partner I’ve always needed.
And I still need him.
I walk toward him slowly. Bram doesn't move.
I reach for his hand. His enormous fingers close gently around mine.
"I’m sorry I was so harsh to you. I know you promised me you’ll never come into my apartment again and I trust that you’ll keep your word..." My voice trembles despite everything I have done to make it steady. "So, I'd like my good boy back."
His eyes widen. "Seraphina..."
I squeeze his hand. "I mean it. I want to see you at Velvet Fang on Saturday. I want to suck on that huge bear cock and make you come. I want to hear you whimpering in my lap when I play with your ears. Will you let me?"
His breath catches. "Are you sure?"
"No, I’m still scared. That the past will repeat. That I trusted the wrong person," I admit, smiling through the ache in my chest. "But I want to try. Because the months without you have been horrible and I love having a little boy to take care of."
He brings my hand to his lips. The kiss is soft. Reverent.
Then he looks up at me. "Yes, Mommy."